


No One Wants To Be Defeated

by hummingrightalong, itslifethatscaresmetodeath



Category: Mr. Robot (TV), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angela Moss is a bad human, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 21:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingrightalong/pseuds/hummingrightalong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslifethatscaresmetodeath/pseuds/itslifethatscaresmetodeath
Summary: Angela fell in love with Mr. Robot. When she shows up at Elliot's door with a surprise, she's not happy to see that he he's had his disorder under control for a couple of years and is in a relationship.(Takes place after my other Malcolm Bright/Elliot Alderson fic but can stand alone)





	No One Wants To Be Defeated

**Author's Note:**

> I've only seen through season 1, but Angela Moss hasn't exactly stolen my heart.

I tried to get a handle on him by myself. Once he revealed it to me, I was determined. Still not knowing exactly what I wanted to do, just that he was wrong. His vision was a cruel, twisted version of how I saw the world. What I wanted to do to save it. 

I hear sometimes multiple personalities are created to protect you. That something traumatic has happened and a split is created, the “real” you protected by a stronger, braver version maybe. 

That wasn’t Mr. Robot. 

Just allowing himself to work under that handle showed his sickness, his cruelty. At times he seemed like he almost wanted to coax me into believing him, taking his side, like it would save me. Often it didn’t take more than hours or days for him to reveal that he accepted me, as he did all people no matter how loyal, only until they disagreed. Only until they weren’t useful.

He never wanted to save the world. He wanted to watch it burn. Because he could. Because he was angry, maybe, but more than likely because he loved the power. 

I never wanted any of that. Fuck, Darlene was more of a true anarchist than myself. She believed whatever I said when I was him, until she saw how much it hurt me. To be fair, she didn’t know for certain what my condition is. I think dad knew. Pretty sure actually. I did a lot of weird shit as a kid. Really weird, and I never knew exactly how I found myself in trouble but he always said “my boy would *never* do that, my boy could never *say* that”. Thanks dad.

From where I was standing, it looked like my sister had it out for me, or would’ve preferred Mr. Robot over her own brother. We weren’t always close the way siblings should be. But she was there every time I slowed down long enough to force me to take the right medications. 

From where I was standing, it seemed for the longest time that Angela, my closest friend, was slipping away. That sucked. It hurt a lot but I couldn’t tell her. I didn’t want to bring her in to the mess I barely understood.

Turns out she was in deeper than I ever thought. Deeper than Tyrell, who was in the middle of a nervous breakdown and who could blame him for seeking some kind of affection from what must’ve seemed so inviting. Mr. Robot could be that way. At least he could fake it. When everything cooled down he filled in the gaps for me, told me a lot I suspected. He’d been fucking the other me, confessed to Angela that he loved me. 

Clever, aside from underestimating my unlikely E-Corp buddy, she found all the right triggers. She even told Darlene she was one. Why wouldn’t she believe her? It all started when my sister and I reconnected. It was the drugs that did it though, made me weak I guess and him strong. 

I don’t know when the sweet, broken hearted Angela first met the other one. But she fell in love with him. Everything he’d set into place had been thwarted more than once, and I guess maybe he almost fell in love in return. Because Angela, and her interference, got him closer than ever to realizing his goals. He fucked Tyrell, I think mocking him or myself and manipulating him easily with his feelings for more. Angela had bad taste in guys, if I knew that, he knew that. It must have been deeper though, than just fucking, and no one knew except Mr. Robot and Angela. 

Most of that painful truth never came out to me until this moment. As she’s standing in front of me, holding a gun limply in her hand. That’s not the scariest thing in the room by far. It’s the small child she’s shielding with her body. It’s her disappointment when I don’t remember him, when I’m surprised to see her. She disappeared shortly after Malcolm Bright took on the case. 

“Malcolm, my boyfriend.” Right, how long ago had she asked, who was I shacking up with now? “What are you doing Angela?”

“We missed you.” She raves. Somewhere in the insanity there’s explanation. Plot holes filled in. The last time “he” had surfaced, they made so many plans together. One of which included erasing me for good, so that he could take control, finish his work, and raise their family. 

Oh shit. 

She’d gotten pregnant during those final days, when I’d lose whole weeks and wake up wherever he felt like leaving me. Of course, he never put us in too much danger. Apparently, that includes increasing my carefully planned usage of opioids to a heavy addiction to heroin. Thing is, it never affected the other guy. Not fair. It just put me down and out, or made me paranoid and therefore reluctantly compliant. 

“Hey! Hey now, just chill ok? Talk to me. I’m kind of pissed right now but damn it Angela, you can’t hurt me and not him. If that’s who you really want.” She whispers something to the kid, who hangs back by the door she’d burst into and locked behind her. The gun shakes in her hand as her other goes for her open purse. 

Oh, fuck no. There’s a needle in her hand, her eyes are wild as she carefully pulls the protective cap off the business end with her teeth. Her arm sweeps the neatly arranged row of prescription bottles off of the counter, sending them flying across the room. I’m practically in a corner now. She even made sure not to back me up near any windows, knowing I might choose that over letting him out again. 

“We need you.”

There’s nothing I can do. Nothing but let her ruin almost two years of sobriety, of healing my body and mind. “Ok, alright, just let me do it ok? Come on, if I’m lying you shoot me right?”

In moments I can feel him creeping at the edges of my mind. Knowing that he’s always been there behind the psych meds is staggering. Not enough to give up but damn close. So damn close that a plan begins forming. I hold on to everything I remember about my conversations with him; the games he played without lifting a finger, the underlying threat in his voice and the emotional speeches, the false sympathy. Confidence. God complex. All wrapped up in faux sympathy like the apostle he called himself. 

Can I do this?

I have to, I tell myself as I turn my back to her. I have to buy Malcolm some time. I’d managed to dial his number, hopefully he’d heard enough before she took my phone and crushed it under her heel. I thought I heard a few pairs of rushing footsteps stop just outside my door. If I’m lucky he’s there with half the fucking NYPD waiting for the right moment. 

I’m a hostage. 

Oh, hell no. 

“Say something!” Angela screeches. To his credit, the little guy by the door hasn’t made a sound or moved towards his mother. 

Pulling down my black hood before I turn around, I pull a smirk, hope it reaches my eyes. “That’s my girl.” She relaxes, drops the hand holding the gun and I see her whole body sag with relief for a moment. With the other she shoves me.

“Asshole!”

“Couldn't resist. I’m so proud of you. Did you get everything done that I asked you too?” I have no fucking clue what I’m talking about, just trying to channel what I know about my imaginary friend. He always had a plan. That affected arrogance, the mood swings, the sometimes manic energy, it's all so unnatural to but it’s my only shot. “He’s gotten so big…” I remark, pushing past her and lifting the baby. Angela smiles fondly. “Only thing though, gimme that gun before you shoot yourself in the foot.” I put everything into that, and she looks appropriately chastised, a little bit grateful too. 

When I turn it back on her I might as well have already pulled the trigger from the way she looks. “Wha-what are you doing? Wait. Did you just fucking play me?”

''How does it feel?” I’m starting to feel the drugs going to my brain. I can actually almost hear Mr. Robot screaming for control. It’s a fight to force him back. No. Not this time. This is my fucking body, my life...no way I’m sharing it with that psychopath again. At least today answered that question. Even on the meds, Mr. Robot will never be far away. As much as I hate to acknowledge it, that truth is a slight comfort. “Now, unlock the door.” 

At least she isn’t suicidal. She does what I ask, *our* kid in my arms and a gun in my hand is more than enough to convince her to let the NYPD in.

Malcolm is first through the door. He lays her out, searches her and handcuffs her. As soon as the threat is out of the way he lets another officer finish up and rushes to my side. “Elliot,” he says softly. 

“I’m ok. Ok...I’m not totally ok. Compromised, but safe. Please…” He’s already taking the gun, unloading it and setting it aside. I hand him the kid.

“We heard most of it, alright? It’s going to be ok. I’m not going anywhere and we’ll figure this out. I’m not angry, Elliot.”

“Ha, well no shit. He did all this.” He smiles back at me, I think that’s pride in his eyes. Feels good. I’m proud too. Scared shitless, obviously, but maybe I’ve got this.


End file.
